Idiosyncratic
by WildcatLizzie83
Summary: Chase has never really noticed Abbie's scars before.


_**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to David Shore, et al. Except for Abbie, she belongs to me. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue me. I'm a poor college student who has no money anyway._

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Chase began to stir as the late afternoon sun filtered through his partially drawn blinds and penetrated through his closed eyelids. He rolled over and turned his back to the offending light. He wearily opened his eyes to find Abbie still asleep next to him.

He wasn't going to lie; as a guy, enjoying sex was innate. Recently with Abbie though, the sex had been fantastic. It was so much better from when he had taken her virginity all those years ago in Sydney. Not that it had been a bad romp to begin with anyway.

What had been intended to be a quiet Sunday in bed catching up on reading, current events, and sleep had turned into more of a—noisy Sunday in bed.

And the shower.

And the bed again. Twice.

Even without sex as a prerequisite, he loved to watch her sleep. He was able to take so much more of her in while she was like this because she couldn't chastise him for appraising her.

He loved the way her hair would spread wildly about her head, sometimes even spilling to his own pillow, leaving the citrus scent of her shampoo behind. He also enjoyed how strands of her hair would fall in front of her eyes, so much like his own. Sometimes the world really did have a funny sense of humor.

His gaze traveled from the tips of her hair to the faint remnants of worry lines across her brow. He knew that it upset her that she couldn't help patients the same way that he did, and a part of her died each time that she lost one. He worked hard to keep assuring her that she helped patients in ways that he never could, and he hoped that she took some comfort in that.

From her brow he noticed the subtle remains of an orgasmic flush across her cheeks. Apparently the feeling of being worn out was mutual.

Her lips were slightly parted and he noticed that a small part of her lower lip had turned a violent shade of red. He knew he shouldn't have bit down that hard.

His gaze quickly surpassed what was covered by the sheets, having assessed what lay beneath them earlier in the day. His eyes then caught sight of her pedicured toes that peeked out from beneath the blankets.

He sat up and moved around so that he could lay himself across the foot of the bed to better examine her foot. Once he had gotten himself situated, he slowly (because there would be hell to pay if he woke her up) moved the sheet away to reveal her left foot. Past her bright pink painted toe nails, on the top of her foot, he focused on a butterfly tattoo that curved down toward the arch of her foot. Chase reached out and gently traced the lines of her tattoo with the tips of his fingers. He had seen the tattoo countless times since she had walked back into his life more than seven months ago, but he knew nothing of the story behind it.

He quickly pulled back his hand as Abbie's foot twitched in her sleep. He chuckled softly. Her sensitivity to touch made her prone to giving in to him. All it took was a tickle to her ribs or feet and she would do just about anything he asked just to get him to stop. He was ashamed to admit that he took advantage of that far too often.

He looked up at her as she took in a deep breath and lengthened her body as she stretched. She opened her eyes and blinked several time to clear the haze before meeting his stare.

She gave him a small smile. "Hi."

He returned her smile as he got up to stretch his body atop of hers to give her a kiss.

Abbie raised her eyebrows with interest when he settled himself across the foot of the bed again. She said nothing though; deciding that it would be best to wait and see what he would do. Only when he began tracing the tattoo again did she speak up.

"What are you doing?" she inquired.

"Tell me about this," he commanded gently, looking up at her through the hair that fell in front of his eyes.

"I've had it for about a year and a half. I got it done with some friends on the spur of the moment," she told him, smiling at the memory.

"That's it?" he asked, a bit disappointed at her lack of a grand tale.

"That's it," she affirmed with a shrug.

He surprised her a bit when he removed more of the covers away from her legs. What was he up to?

He traced the faint outline of a scar on her life ankle.

"How did you get this?" he asked.

"Self inflicted," she told him. Seeing the concern in his eyes, she continued before he could voice it. "I had mosquito bites up and down my legs one summer. That one in particular got scratched raw, leaving the scar," she finished, pointing lazily in the direction of her ankle.

"What about this one?" he asked, reaching up and running his fingers over a scar close to her knee.

"A casualty from working in retail," she explained.

He looked up at her in interest.

"I cut it on some plexi-glass while changing the floor set."

"And this?" he questioned, running his thumb across her knee and brushing against another scar.

"What is this? Twenty questions?" she countered, laughing at his sudden curiosity.

"That depends," he told her. "How many more scars do you have?"

"Three plus that one on my knee," she answered.

"So it's more like seven questions instead of twenty. And you didn't answer the last one," he replied.

"I've had the one on my knee for several years; I even had it when I first met you. I fell off my bike in the street when I was in grade school. I skinned my knee bad enough that it left a scar," she told him.

His eyes followed the rest of her leg up to her hip before scanning down her right leg.

He traced his fingers across her scar that was almost in the same spot as one on her left leg. He simply looked up at her figuring that a question was no longer necessary.

"Same thing as one of the others," she shrugged. "I cut it on some plexi-glass while changing a floor set at work."

His eyes moved down the rest of her leg. When he didn't notice any more scars there, he tossed the rest of the blankets off of her so that he could examine her torso.

"Robert, why don't you just _ask_ where the other two are?" Abbie sighed and rolled her eyes.

"What would be the fun in that?" he remarked, looking up at her with an all too familiar glint in his eyes.

He hadn't meant for his comeback to come out as suggestive as it did.

"We're closed," she told him. She was willing to bet that she wouldn't be able to walk properly until tomorrow, but it was such a pleasant feeling at the same time.

"That makes two of us," he said, grinning at her before continuing his assessment of her upper body.

Seeing none on her chest or arms, he took her left hand in his, studying each of her fingers.

He almost missed it but it was there: a scar in the shape of a crescent moon on the side of her middle finger. He looked up at her.

"I cut myself with a bread knife when I was younger while trying to cut a bagel," she told him.

He finished looking over the rest of her hand as well as her right. He studied her face momentarily, but he knew there weren't any there.

He furrowed his brow in confusion. She had said there were three more, so where was the third?

"Where's the last one?" he asked, still leaning over her on his elbows.

She tilted her head back and tapped the underside of her chin. He looked at the spot where she had indicated; a thin scar went halfway across her chin.

"I wasn't even in kindergarten," she began. "It was summertime and my family had traveled out to visit my aunt and uncle and their children in Arizona. My cousin Timmy, who is a couple years older than me, dared me to jump off the side of the pool backwards. I didn't want to be called a chicken for the rest of my time there so I agreed. I jumped and I missed."

Chase grimaced. She couldn't possibly mean what he thought she meant. "What do you mean you missed?"

"I cracked my chin open on the pool deck."

Yes, she meant what he thought she meant.

"How many stitches?" he asked, looking back to the scar.

"No stitches," she told him. "Sterile strips."

"How bad did it hurt?" he questioned, looking back into her eyes.

"I don't really remember. I remember standing at the side of the pool before I jumped and then the next thing that I remember is sitting in the back of my aunt's van with my head in my mother's lap and an ice-pack pressed to my chin while my aunt drove to urgent care," she said.

Satisfied that he had finished his search, he laid back down at her side, tossing the extra sheets back to her.

"You know what I love about you?" he asked as he pulled her closer to him, her body curving along his.

She mumbled some sort of response that he couldn't quite make out. He decided that he'd answer the question anyway.

"The little things," he told her, resting his cheek on the top of her head as he got more comfortable, ready to drift back off to sleep himself. "I love the way you bite at your lower lip when you're nervous and the way your tongue sort of makes its way ever so slightly between your lips when you're concentrating. I love the way your eyes light up when you're enjoying something. I love the way you scrunch up your nose when I use words from home that you don't quite understand. And I love your scars and the stories that they tell."

"I love you too, Robert," she mumbled, understanding that his declarations also meant something deeper. "Even if you are cheesy."

"I love you more," he told her contentedly, placing a kiss on the top of her head before drifting back to sleep.


End file.
